Ocean Shore
by Dan Nguyen

Waves roll and hush the shore
Singing and whispering its ancient lore

The sun hovers lightly in the air
Painting the sky red everywhere

The wind whistles over the rocks
Reaching the birds that camp on the docks

Ode to my Hockey Skates
by Becca Gilmore

We make a good pair!
You are as fast as lightening,
slipping down the frozen water.

Me in my pads,
helmet, gloves, jersey, and socks.
You with your blade, boot, and laces,
indents, black marks, and scrapes on the sides.

I find a path
for you.
You go
through the icy path,
whizzing through the defense men.

You get on your edges,
I lean with you,
We go together on the tight turns,
throughout the ice.

I can trust you to come to a stop
quickly and rapidly.
We might flutter snow in the goalies eyes
just for fun.

How do you
stay so
stable and sharp?
How do you
make me
get so low?
How do you
put deep and slick divots
in the ice?
Some things we just might not know.

I do not know how
I do not fall,
but yes
I do fly with you down the ice.

It is not long
before good fun hours go by
and
I throw you in my bag
cause it is time to go home.

I do not know
what I would do,
without you,
my
hockey skates.
We do make a good pair!

Captive Mustang
by Joanna Beer

A jet black Thoroughbred
Paws at the ground
With ears back,
While circling the paddock,
And neighing nervously.
A man with crooked teeth
With beady eyes
Hair, matted and scraggly
Jeans, moldy and torn
With a whip in hand,
Approaches the horse.
He grabs a double bit and,
Clips it onto the halter.
Phantom, sensing danger, rears up,
And neighs, warning the town,
But the old hermit grabs him,
Then yanks him out of the paddock.
In the distance,
Open plains stretch
And mustangs roam
Free.
Phantom struggles,
But the hermit whips him.
Ignoring the searing pain,
He yanks back.
He rears up
And the leather breaks.
The bit falls into the man’s hands
The harness flies off his head
And Phantom bolts
To where the open plains stretch
To where the mustangs roam
Finally
Now free,
Now home.

Read!
by Zoe Jacobson

I’m falling through space
I’m falling through time
the words flow through me
every letter
every rhyme
I devour the words as they dance on my tongue
leaving tingling suspicions
of pages left to come
I fly with Dickinson, Alcott, and Dahl
anticipating battles, bickering, and many a brawl

I fall through colors
blue, black and pink
hard to tell this was created by ink

The Warrior
by Luke Xu

On a night of flame and hate
Lay a child marked by fate,
Upon his eyes a blinding scar
One day to spread his fame so far.

As robbers upon the house did raid
All but that one child was struck by blade.
As rain drenched that grisly night
That child swore to finish the fight.

As he grew he learned from the best
To push him far away from the rest.
A defender of justice, a righter of wrong
But his life was hard, his enemies strong.

As his years lengthened and he grew old
His hair turned silver, from shining gold
But he knew what he must do next
To finish his first, and final quest.

In the land of darkness, cold
Was a creature evil and bold.
The warrior traveled to that land
Numerously avoiding death’s own hand.

They fought and grappled for a time
And both fell into decline.
At last he won and with him took
The being that all good had forsook.

So there was a tale of a warrior great
Who rose up to challenge fate,
A being who for eternity stays
In all our souls, support for our days.